An Untimely Frost (3 page)

With that innate sense that something unpleasant was about to transpire, the men standing nearest her glanced from her to the bartender and back, snatched up their drinks, and headed toward the gaming tables.

“Mr. MacGregor?”

“Aye,” he said with a cautious nod. “I'm Danny MacGregor. And you might be?”

“Lilly Long. Timothy's wife. I was wondering if you'd seen him tonight.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I know na Timothy Long.” MacGregor's Irish brogue was as thick as the head of foam on the mug. Shifting his gaze, he lifted the flagon toward someone behind her to let him know his drink was ready.

“I'm sorry,” Lilly said, realizing her error. “My husband is Timothy Warner.”

Was that a flicker of sympathy in MacGregor's eyes? With a disgruntled laugh, he leaned his hairy forearms on the bar. Lilly took an involuntary step back. He reeked of cigar smoke and sweat.

“I've no' seen Tim Warner tonight, or any night fer more than a week, and I'm no' holdin' my breath in the hope of it since the lad's run up quite a bar tab as well as owing Boatwright a bundle he lost in a game of Monte.”

Lilly's stomach took a sickening dive. So
that's
why Tim needed the money. Still, despite disappointment, humiliation, and anger, dreams and love die hard. Before she could stop herself, she'd blurted a very un-Priscilla-like question. “Are you certain you have the right man in mind?”

MacGregor's laughter held no mirth. “I'm sure. Even in a city the size of Chicago how many Timothy Warners can there be come wanderin' through my door? I've got the right man. He told Boatwright he'd get the money from his wife the very next day, and we've not seen him since. The boy has a silver tongue, don't ya know?”

Lilly felt her face drain of what bit of color it might still possess. More lies. Lies to her, lies to MacGregor, lies to this Boatwright person.

“You do na look so good, Missus,” MacGregor said, genuine concern in his voice. “I shouldna ha' been so blunt.”

Lilly attempted a smile. “No apology necessary, Mr. MacGregor. Tell me, did he frequent any other taverns that you know of?”

With a thoughtful frown, MacGregor rubbed a palm against his whiskery face. “I canna' imagine him not lookin' fer a friendly game, but he never mentioned anyplace to me.”

He glanced around, leaned across the counter, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth, with barely a movement of his lips. “The coppers were in here a day er two ago lookin' fer him, so I expect yer Timmy boy is off to greener pastures.”

The finality of that possibility settled over her like a wet gunny sack, and her bold persona slipped. Faced at every turn with proof of Tim's perfidy, it was becoming harder and harder to convince herself that the incident at the boardinghouse was some sort of terrible mistake. Ignorance truly was bliss, and she wished with all her heart that she had not embarked on this fool's journey and heard these terrible things about him. She thanked MacGregor for his time and turned to go.

“Missus!” She looked over her shoulder at him. “It's not yer fault he's a liar and a cheat. I doubt you're the first pretty lady to be taken in by Tim Warner, and I can promise you won't be the last. Why, he even duped Colleen, and she's not one easily gummed.”

“That he did, Danny boy.”

The statement came from behind Lilly, who turned to see the woman who'd been staring at her earlier. The scantily clad, henna-haired creature squinted at Lilly through the smoke curling from the cigarillo she lifted to her lips. At first, Lilly took the floozy to be near her own age; closer inspection noted a furrowed forehead, a fine network of crow's feet at the corners of the woman's eyes, and a softness of the jawline that even her painted features failed to disguise.

Her makeup was every bit as heavy as what Lilly wore onstage. Garish red lip paint bled into the fine lines around a mouth whose left corner was adorned with a beauty patch. Rouged cheekbones stood out against a heavy dusting of powder. The kohl lining her jaded blue eyes was smudged. The sweet, cloying scent of cheap toilet water mingled with the smoke wreathing her head.

Lilly's stomach lurched once more. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Colleen McKenna.” She propped one hand on a plump hip and drew deeply on the cigarillo. “Boatwright and Daniel aren't the only ones Tim Warner owes.”

Shock coursed through Lilly. Sheltered as she might have been, she didn't have to ask what the woman meant. Once more, her acting skills stood her in good stead. She summoned an imperious tone. “Are you suggesting . . . ?”

Colleen dropped the butt of her smoke onto the floor and ground it out with the scuffed toe of a red satin slipper. “I'm not suggesting anything. I'm tellin' ya that yer husband owes me for three nights.”

“
. . . the thrill of bedding an innocent lost its appeal weeks ago.
”

Lilly wanted to scream that Colleen McKenna was lying, but the truth was in the woman's eyes and the memory of Tim's taunt. Unable to keep up the charade of sophistication any longer, she gathered the remnants of her composure and crossed the room, half blinded by tears of loss and degradation. As she passed the bouncer, she thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

Fighting the urge to cry—more because she was so mortified than because she was hurt—she jerked open the door, slammed it shut behind her, and leaned against it, gulping in deep drafts of the cold, cleansing air. A picture of Tim's body pressed against Colleen's flickered through her mind. Lilly uttered a mild curse and swiped angrily at the moisture in her eyes, as if doing so would wipe away the image.

Tim Warner had dealt her a lot of misery the past four months, and she'd forgiven him time and again. This newest betrayal was impossible to comprehend much less reconcile, yet one thing was certain. He had exhausted every possible means of hurting her.

Drawing on her stubborn will, she straightened her shoulders and stepped from beneath the shelter of the broad porch. She lifted her face up, letting the chill drizzle that had begun to fall wash away the lingering traces of cheap cigars, cheap perfume, cheap lives.

With no thought to the shadows or what might be hiding there and even less to the pain pounding inside her skull, she ran through the rain toward the boardinghouse.

Just when she thought she could go no farther, she saw the lights of her lodging place glowing feebly through the mist, no more than a block away. In moments, she stumbled through the door and down the hallway to Pierce and Rose's room. Her barely audible knock was answered in seconds. Reeling with pain, she fell into Pierce's arms.

C
HAPTER
3

W
ith Pierce steadying her, Lilly was helped into the room. Rose told him to run along, while Lilly apologized over and over for worrying them. Once she was warm and cozy beneath a mound of blankets and cradled a cup of hot chamomile tea in her hands, Pierce was allowed to return. As usual, he got right to the point.

“I know something happened while you were gone. Tell me where you went.” He pinned her with the look that had always made her tell the truth.

“I went to a place called MacGregor's.”

“MacGregor's!” Rose echoed in a scandalized voice.

“MacGregor's is a tavern, Lilly!” Pierce said, as if she didn't know. “What in blazes were you thinking?”

“I'm not sure I was,” she admitted, sinking back against the pillows. “I just wanted to try to find Tim and force him to give back the money.”

He only cocked a dark eyebrow at her. “And you really thought he'd return to his favorite haunt and wait for you to come looking for him?”

“It wasn't very smart of me, I know.” She drew a deep breath. Needing their comforting words, she launched into a detailed account of her visit to the saloon, letting the tale unwind in all its ugliness, omitting nothing, not even the run-in with the horrid Colleen.

“She was so coarse,” she whispered, disgust and shame in her eyes. “I . . . I cannot fathom what Tim saw in her, or imagine him w-with her. I thought he loved me.”

“What transpired between them has nothing to do with love, Lilly. There are some women and some men who aren't satisfied with . . .” His voice trailed away as he searched for a phrase that would not be offensive to her feminine ears. “. . . just one person. They prefer . . . variety.”

Lilly understood that only too well. Her mother had been one of those women. She took a sip of her tea. “Tim's no good, Pierce,” she said at last.

He shrugged, an elegant, yet totally masculine lift of his shoulders. “Most of us knew that from the start.”

“Why didn't you say something?” she asked in an anguished whisper.

“You were innocent and totally besotted with a man for the first time. Would you have listened?”

Recalling the way her heart seemed to stumble the day she'd first met Tim and how, only that morning, she had reveled in his love making, she admitted, “Probably not. It seems that I'm as big a fool as my mother when it comes to men.”

“I hardly think one mistake qualifies you as a fool,” Pierce told her. “But chasing after a crook in the middle of the night . . . well, that's another story.”

A crook. The man she'd promised to love forever was a thief, and worse. “I know, and I'm so very sorry for worrying you both.” She looked from him to the silent Rose.

“I might forgive you if you promise to stay in bed a couple of days,” the older woman said with a stern expression.

Knowing it was the least she could do to make amends, Lilly nodded. “I will, I promise.”

“Good, then.”

“So what do you plan to do about Timothy?” Pierce asked. “Will you divorce him?”

“Divorce?” Tim had stolen her life savings, had hurt her and Rose, and might have killed them but for the grace of God. He'd been exposed as a liar and a cheat and had defiled their marriage bed, striking a killing blow to her self-esteem in the process. Her intellect told her that her marriage was over, but divorce? A troubled expression darkened her eyes. “What would everyone think?”

“Most of us have been expecting something like this to happen since the first day you brought Tim to the theater.”

“We don't stay in any one place long enough for the world to know or care,” Rose added. “And believe me, Tim isn't the kind to let marriage vows stop him from finding his next victim, so why should you be tied to the rotter?”

Lilly gave a sorrowful sigh. “I'm sure everyone thinks I'm a fool for even imagining myself in love with him.”

“They think no such thing. No one can fault another for loving, even if they love unwisely,” Pierce said. “No matter how closely we may guard our hearts, love sneaks up on us when we least expect it, often against our will.” His smile held a hint of deprecation. “We've all done it at one time or another.”

Lilly longed to ask him if he was speaking of her mother, but now wasn't the time, not with Rose standing right there. She had no idea if Rose knew about Kate and Pierce, and she would never say or do anything to hurt the woman who had become her substitute mother. She knew she might never learn who killed her mother, or if Pierce was her father, but she did know two important things: All decisions—right or wrong—affected not only the person making them, but every life that person touched. She also knew with a gut-deep certainty that her mother's killer and Timothy Warner were cut from the same cloth.

“I'll give it some thought,” she said after a few moments of silence.

Pierce smiled his approval. “Good.”

“It's time for you to try to sleep,” Rose said. “I'll be on that cot next to you in case you need me.” She waggled a finger at Lilly. “And I'm holding you to your promise. I expect you to spend at least two days in that bed no matter how bored you may get.”

“I understand,” Lilly said in a meek tone.

Moments later, the lamp had been blown out and she was listening to the soft sounds of Rose's snoring.

Lilly felt as if she should cry. A normal woman would cry, wouldn't she? But the truth was that even though she'd tried to build a life with Tim, she really hadn't known him. If any tears were shed, they would be in anger and for her own stupidity, not the loss of a man who had used her so sorely.

Common sense told her that divorce was the right thing to do, but even freed from the vows they'd taken, it would be a long time before she was willing to trust another man with her body or her heart.

C
HAPTER
4

B
y the evening of the second day, Lilly was convinced that she would go mad if she had to stay in bed another moment. She'd caught up on her reading, focusing on the happenings that were chronicled in the daily newspapers: a new play was opening at McVicker's; a modiste, recently arrived from France and specializing in all the latest Parisian fashions, was opening a shop just down the way; and the prestigious Pinkerton Agency was seeking suitable women to hire as female detectives.

When her eyes grew gritty from too much reading, she occupied her time by thinking about the changes the past few days had wrought in her life. She'd spent hours soul-searching, examining her feelings and devising suitably gruesome means of retribution for Tim if ever their paths crossed.

Learning of his true character had eradicated the last lingering traces of love—or whatever it had been—that she'd felt for him, and she vowed that no man would ever take advantage of her again. It was time to make a change, though what that might be, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that there was a big world out there, and she wanted to see more of it than the insides of trains, theaters, and boardinghouses.

She was entertaining a particularly dreadful end for Tim when a sudden idea leaped full-blown into her mind. It was perfect. She began a frenzied shuffling through the stack of newspapers on the coverlet, skimming the pages until she found the Pinkerton Agency's advertisement.

Always a great fan of Allan Pinkerton's dime novels, she applauded his methods as well as the skill his agents employed to bring about justice, especially when they took on roles, much like actors, to apprehend criminals. There were those who might deplore his tactics, but they could not deny his successes. The great detective lived by the simple tenet that so long as justice prevailed, the ends justified the means, which turned her thoughts back to Tim. Lilly read and reread the public notice, contemplating something that would change her life utterly.

Before leaving for the theater, Pierce stopped by with Rose to check on Lilly. That was good. They both needed to hear what she had to say. She had dressed in a no-nonsense skirt and shirtwaist, and coiled her dark red hair into its customary knot at the nape of her neck. There were circles beneath her eyes, and she still looked pale, but then, her complexion was naturally fair. She was nervous about the upcoming conversation, but at least fully clothed she felt more in control.

Without giving him time to open the conversation, she blurted out, “I was wondering how you think Allan Pinkerton would go about locating Tim and getting back my money.”

Pierce turned to her with a baffled frown. “Allan Pinkerton? I haven't a clue, luv. Why do you ask?” He offered her an indulgent smile. “Are you thinking of hiring him?”

“Allan Pinkerton, the detective?” Rose chimed in.

“Yes, Rose. That one. Look at this.” She picked up the newspaper she'd been reading and pointed to the pertinent piece.

Pierce scanned the print and pinned her with a hard look, while Rose tried to read over his shoulder. “What's this?”

“It's an advertisement for a female Pinkerton agent.”

“I can see that,” Pierce growled. “What in blazes does that have to do with you?”

Lilly looked from one to the other. “Mr. Pinkerton is seeking women to work for his agency. I mean to set up an appointment tomorrow to see if he'll take me on.”

“Take you on?” Pierce echoed, aghast. “You mean
hire
you to be a detective?”

“That is precisely what I mean. And before you begin your nay saying, I want you to hear me out.”

“B-But you're not qualified,” the usually composed Pierce stammered in tandem with Rose's “You can't be serious.”

“And why not?”

“It says here that the woman should be about thirty-five, and—”

“You're only twenty-two,” Rose interrupted.

Lilly gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Other than my age, I have the qualifications they require. I'm the right height, and my hair is fine, since they'll accept any hair color except blond.”

“You don't have a”—Pierce looked at the notice again, searching for the right printed words—“ ‘large and massive forehead.'”

“Thank the Lord!” Rose chimed in with a shudder.

“I believe that specification may be based on Mr. Pinkerton's interest in phrenology,” Lilly mused, giving a thoughtful shrug. “I've read that he is a devotee.”

“Phrenology!” Pierce scoffed. Rose wrung her hands. “Isn't that the hocus-pocus nonsense that claims a person's character can be determined by the lumps and bumps on his head?”

Lilly frowned. “I believe so.” She gave another unconcerned shrug. “Perhaps he equates large foreheads with more brains and thus superior intelligence.”

Rose was shocked to silence. As if he were in a daze, Pierce shook his head. “You're quite serious about this nonsense, aren't you?”

“It isn't nonsense,” she said, snatching the paper from him. “And yes, I am. Quite serious.” She looked at Rose. “Did you know that he hired the first female detective in the country? Kate Warne? Isn't that exciting, Rose?”

“You are an actress, Lilly, not a detective,” Rose said.

“Right,” Pierce said, struggling on. “Acting is in your blood.”

Lilly met his gaze, her eyes glittering with resolve. “You're right. I'm an actress. That's what made it all fall into place. Mr. Pinkerton has hired more than one female operative with a theater background. The ad says that the woman will be playing various roles, so I won't be bored at all.”

“This whole cockamamie idea is ludicrous!”

“Why?”

“Because you've little experience with things outside the theater, that's why,” Pierce said, his voice rising with irritation. “The real world will make mincemeat of you inside a month. I know you, Lilly,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “You want to find Tim, and I think you believe you can somehow look for him at the same time you're chasing criminals. If so, you've completely lost your mind.”

“For heaven's sake, Pierce! Don't be ridiculous! It's a huge country. I know my chances of ever seeing Tim again are slim. Furthermore, it may surprise you to know that I agree with everything else you said. I
do
have little experience outside the theater and our group of actors, which is why I was unprepared for someone like Timothy. I don't intend to let that happen again. No man will ever again seduce me with a handsome face or pretty words.”

There was urgency in her voice. “I've given this a lot of thought, and I keep asking myself how many men are out there doing to other women what Tim did to me—or worse. I want to help them find justice.”

The expression in her eyes begged for understanding. “I can use a gun and sword. I speak and read French and Italian. We've studied everything from astronomy to politics, agriculture to zombies and, if I recall aright, we've even discussed ladies' undergarments.

“You've taught me well,” she continued. “Let me use that knowledge to help other women. If I don't know what to do in a situation, I'll just
act
as if I do until I figure it out, the way I did at MacGregor's.”

Pierce sighed, and she recognized it as a sign of his weakening. “You are a hardheaded little chit.”

“I won't argue with that,” Lilly told him.

He shook his head. “You can't save all the women in the world from devious men, Lilly.”

“I know,” she said, her face a study in seriousness, “but perhaps I can save a few.”